


Hatred

by AlphaPockets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Rivals, Friends to Lovers, Hate, Hate to Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, rivals to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaPockets/pseuds/AlphaPockets
Summary: He might have only been 12, but Cormac knew there was no one he hated more than Oliver Wood.**How Cormac McLaggen's hatred for Oliver Wood grew over time





	Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> For my wonderful, beautiful, and amazing Megan <3

He might have only been 12, but Cormac knew there was no one he hated more than Oliver Wood. He watched through gritted teeth at the future quidditch captain for Gryffindor sit with Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson. He and Angelina were teammates and Katie was someone he was looking to recruit for his own position. The Keeper slot was opening in the next year, and he wanted to try out for it. Katie would be perfect to replace him as a Chaser in his opinion. But the Keeper position was what Cormac wanted to try out for, yet he knew the older boy would get it. Because Oliver Wood was perfect. He looked so casual with his loosened tie and first button undone while the two other Gryffindors looked at him like a hero. He was not that cool.

In fact, he was apparently stupid. Really stupid. He was always with a book in his hand (playbook or school book) because he was barely passing with high enough grades to stay on the team. Or, that was the case according to Cormac’s older brother who also did not like the Wood family. He was also not the lean and fit player like the rest of the team seemed to be. He was heavy and probably didn’t eat right. And next to the rest of the team, he looked sloppy. No matter what his perfectly times “please” and “thank-you” routine made him seem like, he had to be fake. No one was that polite.

He noticed Katie looking over at him and caught the glaring. Cormac gathered his books in a huff and stomped off to his dormitory. Below, he could hear that Scottish accent in fluctuating pitches. The jerk was even trying to deepen his voice to make girls like him more.

 

It was only a few years into knowing him, but Cormac still hated no one more than Oliver-Fucking-Wood. Not even his asshole big brother. The guy was in his final year and was trying to hide behind false modesty. Everyone saw the official letters coming in from teams such as United and the Kestrels. He was not kidding anyone with the humble bragging. Of course, he managed to get scouted out of school and had yet to fail out. And he still had his duckling trail of younger students and girls trying to get his attention. Yet, his eyes were always on those training books. Cormac once made a comment to his brother about how Oliver was probably fucking gay. All it got was Ryan saying how they could be gay together. Which then turned into a fist fight and two days of detention with Filch. None of that would have happened, of course, if Cormac could just play quidditch and get his steam off there. But he couldn’t. Because Fucking Wood was still Keeper. So, all his pent-up rage was directed to his brother’s stupid ass.

“McLaggen,” a low voice asked. “Could you hand me that book, please?”

Great. He had just willed Oliver into being right fucking there. Cormac looked down at the older boy. His course, brown hair was sticking up like he had been tugging on it in thought rather than that combed look. Mac was nearly a head taller than him, yet Wood was nearly as broad. And an unfortunate shower moment killed Cormac’s hopes that he was not in shape. He wanted to snap and say no. To fucking get it himself, but there was something arresting and disarming about how calm the narrow, gray eyes were that looked up with such an earnest gaze. He couldn’t bring himself to punch the guy, no matter how much he begged his hand to work.

Instead, he handed Wood the book he asked for, which was just to his left. It earned him a small smile from the older boy and a genuine, “Thank-you,” before he retreated. Cormac could only blink and curse himself for doing what Oliver asked. Like everyone else did. Like fucking Occlumency.

 

Even in the minor league, Cormac could not escape him. They never saw each other. They had some how avoided all contact with each other since Oliver graduated, even though they sat a few seats apart back during the World Cup. But now the locker room gossip was that Oliver-Fucking-Wood was on probation for possible treason. Which, of course, meant he was against the way the obvious Death Eater leadership in the country was going about things. And of fucking course Wood was going against the rules. His family was infamously anti-Purist movement. Just as his own had been. And, of course, the self-righteous asshole would put his career on the line for the sake of justice. And Cormac hated him. Not because he didn’t agree with him. No. Because he admired Wood.

He hated that he approved of Wood’s fucking choice.

He was proud of the fact that their families had similar thoughts about it. He brought it up later that night at a family night, which just sparked another fight with Ryan. Normally, this would not have mattered. They simply had one too many and Cormac felt strongly about the situation. After the fists flew and papers were signed, both brothers were on a two-week suspension for conduct in public. All it did was give Mac time to think. Think about how Oliver Fucking Wood probably had his sights set on helping people after the world was right again.

Not a year later, Cormac punched a dent in his locker when he found out Wood bowed out of his contract to help Hogwarts rebuild.

 

Cormac was beyond annoyed to finally find something he hated more than Oliver-Fucking-Wood. And that was dating one of his best friends. Alicia talked about him constantly. About their training, about their dog dates, and everything else in life. They did charity events. Even Roger, Alicia’s roommate, liked Wood more than Mac, who was his own teammate! Then again, Rover was a tool, so he didn’t care that much about it. He was just sick of hearing about the guy all the time.

After the Angel of Quidditch spent a year helping at Hogwarts, the Magpies offered him a spot on their team. Now, Mac was on the Falcons, so it meant they interacted more. But it also meant he was allowed knock the Keeper from the air in theory. Yet, he was left being impressed with Troy’s ability to protect the damn guy and Oliver’s own skill at evasion.

It was at least nice to know that Oliver hated him back. Apparently, he thought Cormac was crude, cold, arrogant, untrustworthy, unsteady, and disloyal. Well, all things aside from disloyal were at least reasonable, but that was not why he was happy to hear it. No. It proved the man was not perfect and flawless as people seemed to think he was. He also jumped to conclusions. He, too, was human.

And it was Mac who had been able to break him.

“So, Katie, Angie, and I are going over Ollie’s this weekend,” Alicia stated as she sipped her wine. “Do you want to join us?”

“No.” Mac was shorter than he should have been.

He could feel the eyeroll. In fact, it was almost louder than the overdramatic sigh that followed. Both were the start of a long rant about him not giving as much as she did in their relationship while Mac simply tried to fix the bannister of his porch.

 

He hated to say it, but damn did Oliver Wood look good as Mr. February for the annual Quidditch Calendar. It had been the first time Vane had convinced the guy to put in his picture. He normally bowed out politely, saying it was not his thing. Apparently, his girlfriend had nudged hi to at least trying. What Mac had expected was something wholesome. Like him covered in puppies. Not. Well. All his muscles and even that cheeky cut of his hips peaking from a pair of sweatpants, looking like seduction was his natural state of being. Everyone dreaded following Cormac on the calendar. And he was always Mr. January. Yet, Oliver looked like he was supposed to be there every other year.

He could see the guy looking a bit grouchy across the way at the press conference for their match starting in three hours. He normally did everything he could to avoid the asshole without Alicia there, but he couldn’t help himself. So, Mac sauntered over to the Scot like they had been mates for life and nudged him.

“Hey there, Mister February,” Mac joked. “Looking damn good there.”

The look in Oliver’s eyes were enough to actually startle Cormac. There was a fire from deep-set anger like, somehow, he had managed to do some taboo. His arms crossed in immediate defense.

“The fuck did I do to piss you off. You looked fucking fit, no need to be a twat ‘bout it,” Mac snapped.

And like that, there was a shift. From anger to apology lining Oliver’s face. His ears coloured and the man looked down at his feet. The heat coming from the smaller man was gone immediately and it was like a void opened. Was that what it felt like to see someone actually apologize? He had yet to say anything, how did Mac even know that was an apology.

“It,” Oliver started with a soft voice. “That picture was not supposed to be submitted. I don’t like to show myself off like that.” There was another pause and Oliver shifted uncomfortably. He looked over at Mac a few times. “It’s something that is only reserved for my partners. And I wanted to keep it that way, and not be…” His words fell apart there and the colour took over the rest of Oliver’s face.

“Spank bank material?”

Cormac actually laughed at the way Oliver went from vaguely pink to bright red and covering his face. He laughed because it was easier than thinking about how he was a bit envious of how Oliver held onto that ideal. And had that respect for himself and the person he was with. Not that he was about to turn away from the formerly whorish lifestyle Mac enjoyed or suddenly throw on a veil of modesty.

“Good little Christian boy, ain’t you, Wood.

“Catholic,” he muttered in response. “But maybe not as good as I should be.”

There was something weird that happened in Mac’s brain. He leaned against the wall and slouched so they were about the same height. Cormac was Irish, so Catholic was what people assumed. And they were right. He was proudly Catholic, no matter what Alicia said about it. He was just shocked to see Oliver Wood and him having something in common like that. Especially as he was in a Protestant country. Mac looked over and nudged Oliver again.

“Oi. How about we get a beer after the match,” Mac offered. “Just us. If I don’t knock your bitch ass out.”

Mac hated himself for asking. Because he liked the way Oliver nodded to himself, glanced over his shoulder, and nodded with a smirk. He hated that he was looking forward to it.

 

Maybe he never hated Oliver. He certainly doesn’t now. He and Mac were now sitting in Italy and Mac was nursing a major hangover. He vaguely knew what happened. He remembered Ireland being booted from the World Cup to Portugal, who had knocked Oliver out and almost caused him to have to resign from the team. So, beyond his ego being bruised, Mac could not avenge his best friend. So, he drank. A lot. And he vaguely remembered trying to get in touch with his girlfriend. He wanted to see if he could find some comfort in her. But she never showed up. He remembered that.

He did not remember Oliver showing up. Oliver wouldn’t explain what happened. Judging by the pounding in his head, Mac knew he was drunk and probably insufferable. His eyes hurt, which meant he was crying. Lord knows about what. But he could tell by the tight-lipped look on his best mate’s face was enough to make him nervous. He had clearly been upset about something last night. He feared it was more than just his hatred for losing. He felt the niggling of fear. That he had made an ass of himself. Fleeting thoughts of not being good enough. Of why his girlfriend had not been there. That Oliver was there just to pity him.

Was he pitying him? Maybe what Mac hated most was actually himself. And how me seemed to drag people down.

“Keep thinking and your brain will fry,” Oliver told him in that low register. It made Mac exhale and close his eyes. The sun was burning his eyes and the sound of whatever Oliver was making food with hurt. But that voice was gentle. Mac could only grunt in reply, and Oliver chuckled. “Water. And extra greasy bacon.”

“I could marry your ugly arse if you were a bird, Oliver,” Mac grumbled as he downed whatever potion he was given. He got a chuckle. It was cut short by a sharp knock on the door. Mac only winced, but he noticed Oliver turn and look at the door annoyed. Like he knew what was on the other side. He dropped the food onto a plate and ignored it. It was not until three more sharp knocks sounded off that he sighed and aggressively wiped he hands on a towel. Mac could have sworn he hear Oliver mutter something about he person having no time to show up the night before and his own heart dropped. He, too, knew who it was.

But he had nothing to do. He just heard Oliver dismiss his girlfriend, saying Mac was still sleeping and he would let her know when he was ready to see people. He hated the fact that he was why Oliver had to lie to his best friend. That he had been clearly picking sides, and his oldest friend was now losing. Mac also hated Oliver for making him feel like it was nice to maybe deserve it for once.

 

Well. At least it was over. No more lying to himself about if he was happy. He had been with her longer than he needed to. He was in a bad place long before he and Oliver became friends. He had just not expected Alicia to be the one to take over the reigns of hating Wood. Oliver called her out on a lot of her bullshit. It became a pity-me fest. She hated that Mac had friends. He was hanging out with Oliver’s friends and doing more than just doting on her hand and feet. Mac was happier than he had been for a while until the fight. Because it all became hypocritical. But it was over now. He no longer had to hate the situation he was in.

Well. He still hated it. As he knew the truth. He knew that Alicia had been fooling around on him. Maybe for a while. The irony that everyone thought he was going to be the one to fuck up. And he held on when she was using his story for cover. His own guilt of who he once was to cover her own tracks. It was odd to actually be the better person. Sardonically, he wondered if that was how his best mate felt all the time. It was exhausting.

He took another drink from the bottle when he heard footsteps approaching. He knew who it was. Only one person showed up unannounced. And it was Oliver. But what he had not expected was for his calm and controlled best mate to take the bottle from his hands and take a long drink. He looked exhausted. He looked… wrecked. It was enough to sober Mac up immediately. He pushed aside the anger he had for the bitch who had used him and ruined his life for years and locked in on Wood’s lowered gaze.

“What-” Mac’s eyes danced over his mate’s face. There was nothing telling, so he took the bottle back and placed it away from Oliver. The older man just grunted and flopped back into his seat.

“Summer left.” Oliver admitted and began to chew on the dead skin on the side of his nails. After a few seconds of chewing he dry spit to the side. “Apparently I was taking too long to move forward with her. After a year.” The dry laugh was what cut Mac deep.

He felt something on a grander scale than he thought possible. Boiling, bubbling rage. It was like lava in his veins. His heart pumped faster, and his head was throbbing. He knew his face was now flushed from the heat coursing through him. This was actual hatred. And it hurt more than he realized it possibly could. That maybe the real root of that anger was the pain of someone hurting another he loved.

Loved.

 

“Heard you are going fairy,” Ryan chided in the locker room.

He and Oliver had been hanging out a lot more. They had not said anything about what it was. Unspoken, as Oliver had moved to the Falcons after the World Cup. Warrington had paid a pretty penny for him. Traded Flint and now Wood was the captain. The weekend before, Troy had the lads over to get pissed in celebration. It had happened so fast that night, he didn’t know what to do about it. A half-drunk pressure of chapped lips and facial hair on the corner of his mouth as a goodbye for the night.

He rounded on his brother, who was as tall but favoured the lithe look. It had been years since Ryan actually posed a threat to Cormac. Not that he was incapable. If anything, he used Mac’s rage against him rather than fought fairly. Just as he was doing at the moment. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He knew what that rumour could do to his life now. He had seen it before. He had been a part of it, even if passively ignoring the hazing, a few years ago. More than that, he knew what it would do to Oliver. His father already thought the man a failure. This rumour would ruin what shaky ground being a captain would gain him. And who knew if he would lose the position for it. Not by Warrington, but the higher powers in the B&I League.

He lurched forward to punch his brother, but a throat clearing stopped him. Annoying how a simple sound was enough now when done by the All-Powerful Wood. It was also impressive how intimidating Oliver looked at the moment. Still wet from his shower with a bright blue and white-striped towel wrapped around his waist, sandals, and arms crossed over his chest. The room was now silent enough for the dripping water from his body to audibly hit the tiles. He wanted to laugh at the image, but would tease him later while he told the guys about it.

“Have something you want to say, McLaggen?” His normally gentle tone was ice. It went straight down Mac’s spine in a way he did not want to admit. And he was also glad he was not in a towel. Everyone knew two years ago, Oliver dropped Troy with a single punch when he was acting out of line. Troy had almost a half foot on Oliver and about twenty pounds. He could easily do the same to Ryan without a second thought. As much as he could not stand his brother, he knew Oliver would hate himself for doing that again.

“No, sir,” Ryan muttered and slammed his locker. Oliver scoffed and walked off to his own. Once more Mac really wondered how he ever thought he could hate the guy. Well.

He knew.

 

He had hated Ryan his whole life. He hated what Alicia did to him. He hated how Summer made Oliver depressed for months. He hated not being able to fix things for his best mate. He hated being part of every bit of hazing that his former teammate had been through when he was unwillingly outed.

But he knew what he hated more than anything now. He hated the alarm clock. He hated how it beeped loudly on the far side of the bed. Waking him from the heaven he had been able to wrap himself every night. He hated how it started the chorus of six dogs barking and wanting to go on their morning run. But mostly, he hated that it meant he felt the body beside him roll away to turn it off. There was a wall of cold where the sheets shifted and the back that had been warmly pressed against his body all night no longer sat. He did not, however, hate the image of long and strong muscles reaching forward in the sunlight. He grinned and ran his hand along the spine and muscles.

Oliver chuckled and looked over his shoulder. A year ago, give or take, Mac remembered waking up next to Oliver for the first time. Only it was with a hangover. And Mac had been passed out in his hotel bed and Oliver was sat uncomfortably in a chair. There was no hangover. No crushing sensation of loss or weight of not being enough. He knew he hated more than most people. He drank and fought like a fool in his past. But for the first time in his life, Mac realized he did not hate his life.

“Do I have a crease on my face again,” Oliver asked with a voice still rough from sleep.

“No.” He huffed a laugh. “I love you.”

Maybe he did hate Oliver and the way he still blushed down to his chest. And how easy it was to pull him back to his chest when he shyly replied for the first time, “I love you, too.”


End file.
